


Serendipity

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boys in Skirts, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Inline with canon, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quiet Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mizumachi hadn’t expected Kakei to like the cheerleading skirt so much." Mizumachi likes experimenting with his clothing, and Kakei likes skirts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serendipity

Mizumachi hadn’t expected Kakei to like the cheerleading skirt so much.

“Woah,” he laughs in the gap Kakei leaves him to catch a breath and attempt to steady out the thrum of his heart from the rush of kissing the other has just pressed against his skin. “If I had known you were into this I would’ve done it sooner.”

“Be quiet,” Kakei tells him, hissing the words against Mizumachi’s shoulder as he pushes the other back against the wall of the empty hallway. The sound tickles Mizumachi’s skin and makes him shiver and huff a laugh as he tips his head in surrender to it. “Someone will hear us.”

“Sorry,” Mizumachi says, sounding no more sorry than he feels, which is not at all. Kakei’s hand is sliding up under the weight of the hem skimming his thighs and urging the fabric high around Mizumachi’s hips; Mizumachi’s heart is pounding in his chest, his breathing coming fast on the flush radiating over all his skin, and then Kakei’s fingers catch at the top of the shorts under the skirt and he whimpers sudden encouragement, his hips bucking forward off the wall to meet Kakei’s touch.

“ _Quiet_ ,” Kakei says again, softer and harder than the first time, but he’s not lifting his head, and his fingers are tugging at the elastic of the spandex shorts and sliding down inside them. Mizumachi is sure he’s too hard to pass for decent with just the shorts anyway, but then Kakei’s fingers drag at the head of his cock and his whole body thrums into heat. His throat tenses, his chest flexes, and it’s only the echo of Kakei’s words still hot in his mind that closes his mouth on the full-throated moan he wants to offer to the contact. It comes out as a whine instead, a hiss of air mostly through his nose instead of sounding against the space of his mouth, and Mizumachi grabs at Kakei’s arm, closing his fingers into a bracing hold against the other’s bicep as his head angles back against the wall behind him.

“Shh,” Kakei says, curling his fingers around Mizumachi and stroking up by an inch, enough to jolt sensation into the other’s veins and flash his vision to white for a moment of startled pleasure. “We have to be quiet.”

“I know,” Mizumachi says, and “I know” but he doesn’t know, not really, it’s impossible to know anything at all except for the weight of Kakei’s hands on him. He’ll be quiet if Kakei wants it of him, will close his mouth on the overheated spill of want in his throat if Kakei asks; but he can’t think through the logic of why silence is so important, of why it would be so bad to have someone find them in the shadow behind the inactive vending machine where Kakei pulled them. It’s just sex, anyway, it’s not like there’s anything unnatural about it. Mizumachi would rather have Kakei’s hands on him like this than his own, would rather ride out the rhythm of the other’s touch instead of the too-familiar pattern of his own palm, and he’s pretty sure Kakei agrees, pretty sure that Kakei is as willing to appreciate the extra pleasure that comes from Mizumachi touching him than just jerking off himself. Mizumachi reaches out with his free hand -- the one not currently occupied in bracing against Kakei’s arm -- and fumbles his touch across the other’s hip and the bottom edge of his shirt, and then he presses his palm solidly against the resistance of Kakei’s cock inside his jeans and Kakei’s whole body cants forward in a sudden, reflexive rush of action.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he blurts, the edges of the word gone harsh and desperate at the back of his tongue, and his fingers tighten around Mizumachi’s length, his wrist jerking like he’s seeking for traction he’s unlikely to find in the situation they are in. “That’s.”

“Good,” Mizumachi finishes for him. He’s pushing in harder, grinding his palm against Kakei as his breathing catches into panting heat in his throat; Kakei’s fingers on him are good, they’re drawing shivering sensation out up the whole curve of his spine, but the choked-off sounds the other is making at his shoulder are better, they’re running adrenaline out into him as if they’re about to step out onto the field and begin a game. “Kakei, it’s good, right?”

“Fuck,” Kakei says again, “Yeah, it’s good” as he lets his hold on Mizumachi go and reaches to grab at the shift of the other’s wrist instead. Mizumachi can’t make any sense of the action, even as his fingers slide free; he’s still blinking confusion when Kakei lets his wrist go and grabs at his hip instead to push hard enough that Mizumachi stumbles forward and away from the support of the wall at his back. For a moment he thinks Kakei wants to go somewhere else and starts reaching to fumble his clothes back into some minimal attempt at decency; but Kakei just keeps pushing, turning him around entirely to face the dark of the shadows cast over the wall, and Mizumachi realizes what the other wants just in time to lift his hands and catch his weight against the support in front of him.

“Can we really?” he asks, craning his neck back over his shoulder to blink at Kakei. Kakei’s head is ducked down, his hands occupied in his pockets; his hair is falling in front of his face so Mizumachi can’t see any of his expression except the part of his lips on the pace of his breathing. “What if we get caught?”

“We won’t,” Kakei says, and Mizumachi knows he has no basis for this statement but he can also feel the grate of the words in Kakei’s voice underneath his skin like they’re reaching into his veins, and he’s shuddering through the heat of his reaction before he can think about it. Besides, it’s not like he wants to stop; he’s shifting his feet apart, bracing his weight to stability even before Kakei angles a knee forward to press between his and hold him to the wall. “Stay quiet.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mizumachi says, and then he has to shut his mouth and focus all his attention on keeping it that way rather than getting distracted by the sounds of Kakei moving behind him. There’s the rustle of fabric, he thinks, the crinkle of something plastic or metallic; his skin is flushing hot in waves, like a tide of electricity is washing into his veins in place of the blood that was there before. The spandex of the shorts under his skirt is too tight; it’s straining against him, caught at the head of his cock and pinning the hem of his skirt under it at once. Mizumachi lifts a hand from the wall and reaches down to tug the cloth free of the elastic; the motion purrs up his spine, radiating out into his fingertips as he lets the fabric fall back into place to half-cover the angle of his cock stretching against the spandex, and Kakei makes a sound as the skirt shifts and reaches out to grab hard against Mizumachi’s hip. His hold catches at the skirt, rumples it hard under the drag of his fingers, and Mizumachi is sucking in a breath of air at the same time that Kakei urges the skirt up off his ass and catches to tug at the waistband of the spandex. It gives way easily, sliding off Mizumachi’s hips to bare his skin to the press of the shadowed air around them, and then Kakei is touching him, slick fingers dragging against his skin while Mizumachi is still huffing appreciation for the simple pleasure of fresh air against bare skin. Kakei’s touch is cold, chilled with the coating of lube he got from somewhere Mizumachi can’t imagine; but Mizumachi doesn’t care about the how of the current situation as much as he does about the fact of it, namely the friction of Kakei’s fingers slipping wet over his skin. His hips buck forward, his legs flexing into an involuntary thrust of action, and Kakei pushes into him without any more warning than that first touch, the slick coating his skin easing the force so he slides knuckle-deep with the initial action. Mizumachi makes a startled sound, something between a gasp and a half-formed groan, and Kakei lets his hip go immediately, reaching up to fumble his palm over Mizumachi’s mouth to catch back the sound straining itself to freedom from the other’s throat.

“Quiet,” he says again, sounding as strained as if it’s Mizumachi’s fingers working into the grip of his body and not the other way around. “We don’t want anyone to hear.”

Mizumachi nods -- he recognizes that Kakei doesn’t want that, at least -- but he still jerks when Kakei pushes farther into him, still groans muffled appreciation against the heat of the other’s palm at the stretch of the other’s finger pressing him open. It’s impossible to hold back, the reaction is too instinctive to be restrained, and Kakei doesn’t tell him to be quiet again, just starts working his touch inside Mizumachi with an efficient grace that has the other’s thighs shaking before Kakei has even pushed in a second finger. He gasps for air against the press of Kakei’s palm, fills his lungs with overheated air that makes him feel like he’s burning from the inside out, and then Kakei shifts his hand and pushes a second finger into him and Mizumachi moans, any control he had over his throat entirely undone by the stretch of Kakei’s touch. Kakei’s hand is trembling, Mizumachi thinks, thinks he can feel the press of the other’s fingers against his lips quivering with adrenaline and anticipation and nerves all together, but Kakei doesn’t move away, and Mizumachi doesn’t try to pull himself free either. He just breathes, and tastes the salt of Kakei’s hand pressed close against his lips, and when Kakei starts to find a rhythm Mizumachi lets one of his hands slide free of the support of the wall so he can reach down for himself instead, can close his fingers around the heat of his cock and start to stroke idle friction over himself. He matches his rhythm to Kakei’s -- it’s easier to follow the other’s lead, simpler to let the surge of friction from Kakei’s touch match that of his own -- and as their motions speed Mizumachi lets his eyes flutter shut, lets dark hide the distraction of vision from his thoughts so he can focus entirely on how fast Kakei is moving, on the sound of the other’s breathing coming hot and frantic at his shoulder. Kakei is pressing against him, rocking his hips forward to grind against Mizumachi’s hip as he works the other open with his touch; Mizumachi can feel how hard he is even inside his jeans, can feel the resistance of Kakei’s cock catch and tug at the hem of the cheerleading skirt rumpled up around his waist. It makes him angle his hips back, makes him meet Kakei’s forward motion with his own, and Kakei groans a half-restrained sound and draws his fingers free so fast Mizumachi opens his eyes wide at the rush of friction. There’s still nothing to see, still just the seam of the wall with the roof overhead and the shadows of the vending machine in the way of the illumination from the main corridor; but Kakei is moving, is fumbling with his clothes and dragging at his zipper and Mizumachi is panting against the other’s palm, is stroking faster over himself like it’s a race to see whether he can reach satisfaction in advance of Kakei getting his clothes open. It’s not, and even if it were it’s one Mizumachi’s lost before he begins -- but Kakei is stepping in closer, is slotting his knees to fit around Mizumachi’s, and Mizumachi’s hand goes still with the overwhelming weight of anticipation as Kakei rocks forward to bump against him. He’s hard against Mizumachi’s skin, slick with the damp of the lube he’s pressed over himself from what clung to his palm, and his hand tightens at Mizumachi’s mouth as an unstated warning the moment before he tips his hips forward to push in against the other’s body. Kakei’s cock slides, catches -- Mizumachi groans an inhale -- and Kakei rocks up hard in a quick burst of motion to slide the head of his cock past Mizumachi’s entrance and into the heat of the other’s body. Mizumachi’s throat constricts, his breathing catches, and as Kakei slides farther into him he moans against the other’s hand, the sound loud and helpless enough to come clear even past the weight of Kakei’s palm.

“Quiet,” Kakei tells him, but his voice is cracking and his fingers are tensing, like he’s trying to brace himself in place or hold himself up as he thrusts into Mizumachi. Mizumachi’s skirt is caught between them, pinned against the top edge of Kakei’s loosened jeans and the elastic at the top edge of his own shorts, and Mizumachi can’t spare enough thought to pull it free even though the fall of the fabric would grant them some additional attempt at privacy. It’s not like it won’t be perfectly clear what they’re doing anyway, Mizumachi tells himself dizzily as Kakei draws back to thrust forward into him again, deeper than on his first stroke. There’s no way to pretend themselves to innocence, not as close as they are now, and Mizumachi can’t find it in himself to care, not with the shivering heat of friction running through him with each motion of Kakei’s hips.

“Kakei,” he says, forgetting the other’s hand is still pressed against his mouth to muffle his words to incoherence. The name comes out as a moan, tangled around Kakei’s fingers until it sounds more like heat than anything else, and Mizumachi shivers with it even while Kakei is hissing “ _Mizumachi_ ” as if the shadow of his voice is a threat more than the encouragement it is in practice. Mizumachi tightens his fingers on himself to resume the steady stroke of his hand, and Kakei groans behind him and ducks his head to press his forehead against Mizumachi’s shoulder and pant heat against the fabric of the shirt straining across the other’s back. Usually Mizumachi prefers the contact of bare skin, would rather take the moment of hesitation to peel his clothes off and feel Kakei warm and sweat-slick against him; but then Kakei’s fingers at his hip slide down, and tug against the pleats of the tangled-up skirt, and Kakei makes such a sound in the back of his throat that all Mizumachi’s personal preferences dissolve at the audible proof of the other’s appreciation. The fabric slides loose, falling to weight at Mizumachi’s skin, and Mizumachi tilts his hips back, rocking to meet Kakei as the other takes a sharper thrust forward than those he had been offering. The impact is heavy, jolts a shudder of electricity all through Mizumachi’s body, and when he speeds the motion of his hand Kakei follows suit, matching the rhythm of his hips to Mizumachi’s strokes in what has to be more serendipity than intention. The pace is good, fast and hard and rushed in a way that catches Mizumachi’s breathing, but the angle is off, the difference of being pressed to a wall instead of the soft of a bed shifting Mizumachi’s hips until Kakei’s strokes are hitting not-quite where he needs them. He whines at Kakei’s hand, shifts his hips back in an attempt to find the right position, and Kakei comes forward sharply and Mizumachi’s vision flares to white with the force of the sensation that rushes through him. He groans into Kakei’s palm, shuts his eyes in surrender to the heat, and it’s all reflex moving his hand now, as surely as it’s instinct guiding the pattern of Kakei’s movements. Kakei is breathing hard, panting for air at Mizumachi’s shoulder, and Mizumachi’s spine is arching, the whole length of his body drawing taut on the threat of satisfaction. Kakei’s still moving, jolting sensation out into him, and his own hand is still dragging over himself; but both of those are going distant, are fading into the background as all Mizumachi’s attention centers in around the pressure in his chest and the heat climbing steadily in his veins. Everything is straining, he feels like he’s glowing with possibility in the gaps between his inhales; and Kakei thrusts hard into him, and Mizumachi whimpers a tiny noise of relief against Kakei’s palm and comes, his head falling forward as his cock spills wet over the grip of his hand. Pleasure is rippling through him, washing over him in waves that bring him clenching tight around Kakei inside him, and then Kakei chokes on an inhale and moans “ _Mizumachi_ ” against his shoulder with careless volume as his movement stutters into the release of orgasm. It’s too loud, Mizumachi knows he ought to worry about them being overheard; but Kakei is gasping pleasure against his shoulder, and all the tension in Mizumachi’s body is going slack with satisfaction, and so he keeps his eyes shut, and lets his head rest against the wall, and breathes deep lungfuls of air around the weight of Kakei’s hand over his mouth.

“Shit,” Kakei says, finally, his voice rough and low in his throat. He lets his hand slide free of Mizumachi’s mouth to brace himself at the other’s shoulder as he pulls back and away before peering down the corridor. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

“Mm,” Mizumachi hums. The air is cool in his throat, fills his chest with pleasant chill like he’s breathing in the crisp of an autumn breeze after coming out of a sauna. He wipes his hand against the inside of his shorts and tugs them back up into place before smoothing his skirt down over the dark. When he turns around Kakei is pulling his jeans back over his hips and fumbling with the fastenings, but he looks up as Mizumachi’s movement ruffles the hem of the skirt, his lashes fluttering heavy over the bright of his eyes.

“I dunno,” Mizumachi says as Kakei stares at him for a moment, his eyes still smokey on shadows and forehead creased on concern. Mizumachi tips his head, and flashes a smile, and Kakei’s expression melts into softness, the strain evaporating from his features as his mouth tugs into an involuntary smile of response. “I liked it.” Mizumachi takes a step forward and reaches out to curl his fingers into the soft of Kakei’s shirt, and Kakei huffs a laugh and lets Mizumachi pull him forward to topple them both back into another kiss against the wall.

Mizumachi’s never cared that much about the clothes he wears, but if Kakei is always going to react this way to skirts, he’s going to have to do some shopping soon.


End file.
